


Harry Potter and the Other World's War

by theothernovelist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Explicit Language, Gen, Harry Potter AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2255127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theothernovelist/pseuds/theothernovelist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry, a young man in the US foster system, is visited by a stranger and quickly whisked away to a magical world that he never could have, or would have, imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Canis Major

“Fuck, man, I dunno,” Harry said.  “What’s the big deal anyway?”

                “Ya know, man.  It’s gonna be cool,” said Rick.  He was trying to get Harry to come to his “party,” which Harry was pretty sure was going to be just beer and weed in a parking lot somewhere.  There weren’t many optimal party locations in Little Wabash, Indiana.  “I really don’t see what your problem is.  Just come out for a little while.”

                “I dunno.  These ones are really…weird.  Strict, I guess,” Harry said. “These ones,” of course, referred to Harry’s current foster family, his fifth one since he’d been in high school.  He didn’t even want to think about how many he’d had in his lifetime.   It was always the same story; he’d get placed somewhere, some weird shit would happen, and he’d get thrown out and put somewhere else.  His most spectacular was probably the time he got really upset about something and the kitchen burst into flames, but his favorite was the one when his teenage foster sister had once woken up with about fifteen garter snakes in her bed.  Harry had only casually mentioned to one little snake that she got on his nerves.  The rest they did on their own, so that one wasn’t really his fault.  Harry really liked snakes.  They were always much friendlier to him than any human had ever been.

                “Dude, are you even listening to me?” Rick said, snapping Harry back to the moment.  He’d gotten caught up in thinking about, you know, all the weird shit that happened to him.

                “Yeah, yeah,” Harry lied.  “I’ll see what I can do, ok?  I gotta get back to the house.  I’ll see you.” They had made their way out into the parking lot, standing between Harry’s car and Rick’s truck. 

                “Whatever, dude,” Rick said, shaking his head.

 

                Harry tried to tune out the weirdness on his drive home.  He focused on the rattling noise the car was making, trying to figure out what was causing it and if he could afford to fix it.  It had taken him his entire adolescent life to save up enough to buy the piece of crap.  He must’ve gotten really into thinking about his engine, because he almost rear-ended a car in front of him.  He looked up to see everyone at the intersection was stopped.  Someone was running around in the street, yelling.  Harry leaned out the window and sighed.  It was that stray dog again, running happily around in the road carrying what seemed to be a man’s shoe.  It was a huge, dirty-looking black dog, and had been pretty much terrorizing the town for the last couple of weeks.  At least three different people had taken it to the shelter, but it always wound up back on the street.  It seemed like Harry ran into the dumb thing every other day.  Eventually, the dog flung the shoe into somebody’s yard and darted off to who-knows-where, and Harry finally got to drive “home,” to the Hensleys’.

                Getting back to the house after school was always a considerably shitty experience, but it wouldn’t be so bad today since Harry’s current foster “brother” would be at football practice.  Michael Hensley didn’t look very athletic at first glance, being round-faced and pretty much morbidly obese, but from what little attention Harry had paid to football over the years he had figured out that there was actually a position on the team that basically translated to “huge guy that just kinda stands in the middle.”  That’s what Mike played.  Harry’d only been with this family since the middle of the summer, and therefore had actually seen pretty little of Mike, but what he had had been more than enough.  The parents were also pretty bad, but Harry was pretty experienced at dealing with shitty adults.  He could handle the bull they threw at him pretty easy.  Getting (literally) thrown around and punched in the guts by fat-football-guy was another story. 

                Harry was really in no hurry to get up to the house once he’d parked in his designated spot on the street at the end of the driveway.  He walked leisurely up the blacktop, focused on the leftover August heat radiating through the tar into the soles of his shoes.  Suddenly, he heard a guttural bellow emerge from the Hensley’s garage, followed by Michael Hensley Sr. wielding a bb gun, shooting into the air and waddling rapidly behind something he was apparently trying to chase away from the house.  _You’ve got to be fucking kidding me_ , Harry thought.  It was that goddam stray dog.  How the hell could it have possibly beat Harry here on foot?  Whatever.  As long as it got chased away, it wouldn’t be his problem anymore.  It was his damn luck that he seemed to run into the thing more often than anyone else. 

                “Boy!” Mr. Hensley shouted, turning to Harry as the dog, undaunted and seemingly smiling, pranced in circles around the front yard.  “Do something about this goddam dog!”

                “What am I supposed to do, it ain’t my dog,” Harry said, but Mike Sr. wasn’t listening.  He’d already flung the BB gun to the ground, presumably for Harry to pick up, and started heading back into the house.  “Fine,” Harry grumbled.  “Hey you, dog!” he shouted.  “You wanna stop bothering me?”  The dog made one last circle and then sat down right at Harry’s feet, panting.  It looked up at him almost inquisitively, and backed up a couple of steps.  Harry was about to just shoot at the thing, not to kill it or anything but just scare it off, but he suddenly found himself making awkward eye contact with it.  There was something weird, almost familiar about it for a moment, but then he snapped back out of it.  It was just a fucking dog.  Careful not to look at its eyes again, he said, “Look, would you just get out of here?” The dog barked once, almost like it was answering him, and trotted off down the street.  Harry sighed.  Would it have been that easy to get rid of it all along?  Oh well, at least it was gone now.  Harry was actually glad to finally go inside, greatly appreciating the powerful air conditioning smacking him in the face as he went through the door.  He hurried past his foster mom, who was distracted by meticulously dusting her shelves and shelves of knick-knacks on the walls, and ducked into his room, careful not to slam the door so that she might not even notice he’d come in. 

                Harry’s room was kind of small, and it had once been the Hensleys’ guest room, so the wallpaper and bedclothes were a generic ugly floral pattern.  Harry had done his best to make it comfortable in the four months he’d lived in it, plastering the walls with posters and scattering comic books and car parts all around the place, but it still had a stale, unfriendly feel to it.  He threw his backpack on the bed and went to the window, opening it up and hopefully glancing down into the bushes.  Nothing there, just like every other day.  Harry hadn’t met any snakes since he’d lived in this house and was starting to get kind of lonely.  He’d been sort of friends with Rick Johnson since middle school, but they weren’t really that close.  Harry glanced at his backpack, full of homework he probably wasn’t going to do, and thought about the so-called party he was invited to for that night.  He might go for a while, he thought.  A beer and a joint didn’t sound so bad, and he could probably get out of the house without the Hensleys noticing if he made sure to keep quiet until then.  Maybe he could slip out when Mike got home from practice, while they were distracted by micromanaging their son’s life.  As much as Harry hated Mike, he kinda felt bad for the guy while his dad stood over his shoulder for every second of homework time and his mother sat and watched him chew every bite of his dinner.  He didn’t feel bad enough to really care, though.  He just thought it wasn’t fair. 

                Anyway, Harry wasn’t going to be able to work on his car since he wanted to lay low for a while, so he had a few hours to kill before he went looking for Rick and his goons somewhere in the Marsh parking lot.  He went to close the window, then walked toward his bed.  Hesitantly, he reached under the mattress and pulled out the book he’d gotten from the library a week ago.  It had taken him forever to find it, since he wasn’t really a library-going type of guy, and when he’d checked it out the librarian had given him a look like she knew he was damned to Hell.  He probably was, anyway.  The book was called _Common Witchcraft_ , and harry had found it way behind some other super old books on the dusty bottom shelf of the furthest bookcase in the nonfiction section.  Some of the pages were missing and it smelled like a flooded basement, but if it had what he was looking for it would be worth it.  It didn’t have a table of contents or even separated chapters, so he’d been just skimming through it, looking for anything that would ring a bell.  There had to be some explanation for all the weird shit in his life.  Talking snakes and spontaneous combustion couldn’t possibly boil down to simple bad luck.  He’d gotten to the pages on fortune telling, or “divination” as the book liked to call it.  It was crazy the kind of shit people thought would tell the future.  Even if there was some supernatural force fucking around with Harry’s life, there’s no way all of this could be real.  He was skimming a page about reading tea leaves (not that anyone he knew had ever made tea in their life), when a crude illustration caught his eye. _It was. the fucking. dog._ Okay, so maybe not _the_ dog, but a similar black dog nonetheless, which was apparently one of the many fortune-telling pictures that could be found in tea leaves and clouds and shit.  The drawing was labelled simply _the Grim_.  Well, that sounded, uh, grim.  Harry flipped the page, where the paragraph explaining the symbol should be.  The very first sentence?  _The Grim means death._ Well, great.  Maybe he wouldn’t have to sneak out or fix his car or do that homework after all.  Harry found his heart was practically pounding out of his chest, despite his insistence to himself that most of this was nothing but garbage.  He slammed the book shut and put it back under his mattress.  He wasn’t going to read the rest of the page.  _Bullshit_ , he muttered under his breath.  _Bullshit_.

 

                It was starting to get dark now, but Harry knew he wasn’t going to make it to meet Rick.  The Hensleys had eventually remembered he was there, and had used their newfound knowledge as an opportunity to have the garage cleaned up.  Even after dark, the heat and humidity inside the garage was oppressive.  Harry’s gray t-shirt clung to his chest and back with sweat as he pulled a cardboard box full of old newspapers down off a shelf.  He didn’t know if Mike Sr. wanted to save them or throw them out, and he honestly didn’t care.  He dumped the entire box into a trash bag and started trying to break down the box.  Despite being old and slightly damp and covered in cobwebs, the box was in decent shape.  Harry figured he’d hold on to it; it might be useful the next time he had to move to another house.  As he attempted to fold it up without tearing the cardboard, he practically jumped out of his skin when he heard a thump outside.  Even if he knew it was bogus, the death dog thing had been on his mind ever since this afternoon.  He really just wanted to sleep.  Shaking his head with exasperation with his own nerves, he finished folding up the box and sat it near the door to the house.  God, it was fucking hot in there.  Despite his reservations regarding the thing-that-went-bump, Harry decided he’d have to step outside for a minute or else he _would_ die.  He went through the back door into the fenced-in backyard, where he was welcomed by a warm but fairly strong wind.  There was probably a thunderstorm coming, which Harry didn’t mind.  When he was a kid, someone at school had pointed out that the random scar on his forehead looked like a lightning bolt, and ever since then he had loved storms. When he was little he imagined that someone in the sky was saying hello to him, but nowadays he just liked the sound of the thunder.  As if on cue, a low rumble spread across the clouds above him.  The smell of rain was definitely on the air now.  Harry sat down in the cool grass and looked up at the sky, pushing up his thick glasses that had started slipping down his nose from all the sweat and sticky air. 

                The chain link fence around the yard had started to rattle a bit in the wind, but for a moment Harry was sure he heard a sound that wasn’t an ordinary rattle.  The gate on the other side of the house from where he was sitting had opened and shut, he knew it.  It was probably Mike Sr., having noticed that Harry was slacking off and coming around to give him hell about it.  Mentally preparing himself to face the music, Harry stood up and started reluctantly sauntering around the side of the house.  But Mr. Hensley wasn’t there.  For the third time that day, Harry was face-to-face with the big black dog.


	2. Travelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travelling

Something in him snapped. Not again, not this big fucking dog again.  
“What the hell do you want from me?!” Harry shouted, not caring if anyone heard. “How the fuck did you get in here, how do you keep finding me, what do you want?” The dog just kept sitting there, staring up at him with those big stupid eyes. Harry sighed. “Fine,” he said. Stay here. Just keep quiet, and leave me the fuck alone. I’m going to bed. Is that okay with you?” The dog, unsurprisingly, did not answer. Harry went back into the house via the garage, muttering something vaguely resembling done as he passed the Hensley family in the living room, sitting on their asses watching TV.  
Sleep. A shower and sleep was all he needed, Harry had convinced himself. It was probably 3 am now, and Harry had woken up for about the third time. He hadn’t been dreaming or even heard anything, he just couldn’t stay asleep. He saw a shadow moving outside his window, just as he had every time he’d woken up before. The dog was pacing the yard, casting a long, jagged shadow against the fence thanks to the back porch light. Harry lay on his back and watched it for a moment; back and forth, back and forth, back and….wait, what? Harry rubbed his yes and put on his glasses. The shadow had grown. It couldn’t be a trick of the light or the angle, because Harry was sure that he’d seen that shadow cast from every possible place in the yard throughout the night. Almost as soon as it seemingly grown to three times its normal size, the movement outside stopped and the shadow disappeared. The fence creaked, barely audibly, and then there was silence. Silence aside from the wind, a harbinger of the storm that hadn’t hit yet, anyway. Harry rolled out of bed and crawled to his bedroom door, then slipped out and shut off the hall light. He didn’t want there to be any chance that who or whatever was in the yard would be able to see inside. He went back into his room, pulling the door shut so slowly it felt like it took several minutes to get it closed. Guided only by the porch light spilling in from outside, Harry crept to the window and looked out.  
In the back right-hand corner of the inside of the fence, there was a man sitting on the ground, leaning up against the chain link with his eyes closed. He had long, nearly shoulder-length black hair that looked like it hadn’t been brushed or washed in a while. He wore almost all black, except his shirt, which from the distance appeared to be a weird shade of dark grayish-purple. He had tattoos on his fingers, as well as on his neck and face, that stood out starkly against the pale of his skin. He seemed generally ragged and tired as though….as though he’d been running around all day and pacing the yard all night. The man was the dog. It didn’t make a lick of fucking sense, but the man was the dog.  
Harry left his room again, less slightly less cautiously this time, and turned the hall light back on. As much as he hated to set foot back in that stupid garage, he went back into it and reached around behind the old, broken freezer that had probably been there for years and grabbed Mr. Hensley’s shotgun. He kept it there in case of coyotes, not that many large animals had ever decided to make their way into Maple Hills subdivision before tonight. The gun was loaded, but Harry imagined that it had been so long since it’d been used that he wasn’t sure it would work. Worth a shot, Harry thought, then chuckled at his own pun. I’m losing my goddam mind. He opened the back door of the garage and went out into the yard. The man was still huddled in the corner, his eyes shut and head leaned back. Harry thought he might have been asleep, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He walked softly toward the corner, realizing that he’d forgotten his shoes as the cold dew began to soak through his socks. Even as Harry approached, the man did not move. Pretty soon, even though it felt like it took ages to cross the yard, Harry found himself standing only feet in front of where the man was sitting. Trembling inside but actually managing to keep his arms steady, Harry raised the gun. Not that he actually planned to use it, but for all he knew this guy was a maniac. He took off the safety, and the man’s eyes shot open along with the click. There was a brief moment of confusion as Harry looked into those eyes again, which despite the man’s ragged appearance and dour expression, seemed to laugh and dance just as they had in the dog. Just as suddenly as the man had opened his eyes, the man began to laugh. Harry was startled, but realized pretty quickly that it wasn’t the maniacal laugh that he’d expected from the dog-man. It was a genuine laugh, amused and joyful.  
“Are you going to kill me, Harry?” the man said, still chuckling.  
“No,” Harry said shakily, lowering the barrel but keeping hold of the gun itself. “I don’t think so.” The man smiled.  
“Well I’m glad to hear it,” he said, looking up at Harry with those bright dog eyes. He spoke with an English accent or something like that, Harry wasn’t sure. Definitely sounded foreign. “You did seem a bit cross with me this afternoon.”  
“You’re the dog,” said Harry dumbly.  
“Yes,” replied the man, giving him a bemused sideways smirk. “And you, my boy, are Harry.” Harry nodded slowly, waiting for his wits to return to him. After a few deep breaths he slowly put the gun on the ground.  
“What do you want?” he said bluntly. “You’ve been bothering me for weeks. What is it that you want?” Harry backed up a few steps as the man slowly stood and stretched. He didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry to answer any questions.  
“I only needed to confirm your identity, make sure it was really you,” he said. His smug expression softened as he said this, looking down into Harry’s eyes, studying his face. Slowly and cautiously, the man reached forward and pushed back Harry’s hair from his forehead. With his other hand, he shakily ran his calloused index finger along Harry’s lightning-bolt scar. “Harry,” he said. His voice broke. Harry had been trying to avoid the dog eyes throughout the conversation, but he glanced up and saw that they were brimming with tears. “Harry,” the man said again. Before he really knew what was happening, Harry had been pulled into a very enthusiastic hug. The man, who still kind of smelled like muddy dog, was pretty much openly weeping now, pulling Harry’s head into his shoulder. It was super uncomfortable, so Harry just sort of stood there stiffly, hoping he’d be let go soon. What the fuck, he thought. What the actual fuck. Finally, the man pulled away, but kept ahold of Harry’s shoulders, looking him up and down like he couldn’t believe how big he was, the way all of Mike Jr.’s elderly aunts had looked at him when they came to town for the fourth of July.  
“I’m sorry,” the man said, releasing Harry’s shoulders and dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve. “You must be quite confused. You’ve no idea who I am or what’s going on, or who you are, for that matter. Run right along and pack your things, I’ll explain everything on our way to the airport.”  
“Airport? What the hell? No, uh, I’ve got a chemistry test on Wednesday, so I can’t really…what? This makes no fucking sense, I am so confused, and…”  
“Shhhh….” the man said, resting his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s alright. My name is Sirius; I’m a friend of your late father’s, and…”  
“My father?” Harry interrupted.  
“Yes,” said Sirius. “I realize, Harry, that you have no reason to believe me. But please, come with me. To London. You are not like the people here, Harry. You know that as well as I do. You don’t belong here. And, though I hate to have to tell you this now, We, your friends and family across the pond, we need you. It is vital that you come with me, Harry. Please.” His tone was suddenly very somber, sending chills up Harry’s spine. Or maybe that was just the dew. Harry didn’t respond for the several moments. Sirius gave him that sideways grin again. “If you come along,” he added, “I solemnly swear you will never have to take that chemistry test.”

“I can’t believe this is happening. Why am I doing this? What the hell am I doing?” Harry said to himself, throwing as much of his stuff as he could into his new garage box. He pulled Common Witchcraft out from under the mattress and started to pack it, but then tossed it back onto the bed. If this dog-man Sirius had anything to do with the Grim, he just wanted not to think about it. Most of that stuff was probably bullshit anyway. He wondered how much of a late fee he’d rack up at the library if he really never came back here, as Sirius had promised. He thought about calling Rick’s house and leaving a message on the machine like “yeah bye, see you never,” but decided not to bother. Maybe he’d become a famous missing persons case. They’ll probably make a TV movie about me someday, he thought. Maybe he’d get to watch it eventually. Or maybe the dog-man was going to kill him as soon as they left town. Either way, Harry wasn’t exactly sad to be leaving Little Wabash. He threw the rest of his stuff that would fit into the box, and carried it awkwardly through the house, careful not to make noise and wake the Hensleys. It was almost four, and it wouldn’t be too long before Mike Jr. would have to get up and head to his morning workout. He’d never understand why anyone would take part in an activity that required lifting weights at six in the morning on Saturday. Anyway, he quietly made his way to the front door, where Sirius the dog-man had promised to be waiting with transportation.  
As soon as he stepped outside with his giant box, Harry was severely disappointed. There was Sirius, standing next to a motorcycle. Granted, it was a pretty fucking huge motorcycle with some saddlebags, but still. There was no way that two grown-man sized people and Harry’s giant box of stuff were going to fit onto this thing, especially not going 70mph up I-65. The look on Sirius’ face made Harry pretty sure he was doing a terrible job of hiding his displeasure with the ride.  
“Are you serious?” Harry asked incredulously, looking at the bike and then down at his cardboard box.  
“Yes,” said Sirius flatly. There was a brief silence, then both of them started to laugh. Puns again. “Come here, Harry,” Sirius said as he walked around to the other side of the bike. Harry walked around to stand next to him. Sirius opened one of the saddlebags and gestured toward it, signaling Harry to put the box inside.  
“You are fucking insane,” Harry said, shaking his head.  
“I’ll do it then,” Sirius said, taking the box. He awkwardly shoved one of the corners of it into the bag and gave it a shove. The whole thing disappeared inside without a trace.  
“What the hell…?” Harry peered down into the bag and could see all his stuff there inside, but, but…it was bigger on the inside.  
“Magic, Harry,” said Sirius hushedly. There was a quiet but urgent excitement in his voice. He looked as though he were a grandpa giving his grandkid the best birthday present ever, like he was waiting for the reaction to giving the kid a puppy when his mom already told him he couldn’t have one.  
“Cool, cool,” Harry said, trying not to freak out too obviously. “I think I do magic, don’t I?” Somehow he was pretty sure Sirius would know the answer.  
“You most certainly do, Harry. You’re a wizard, after all, and a right powerful one at that.”  
“Wizard?” Harry asked. He wouldn’t have said it out loud, but being a wizard sounded really fucking lame. Like he was a cartoon character or something. He imagined himself in a pointy blue hat with stars on it, and he didn’t really like the mental picture.  
“Yes, Harry,” Sirius said, chuckling as though he sensed Harry’s skepticism. “It’s not like you think it’ll be, I promise.” He pulled a two motorcycle helmets out of one of the bike’s deceptively large bags and handed one to Harry. “You’ll need this,” he said. “And we’d better get going, our flight takes off at five, and it’s already after four.”  
“Five?” Harry said, strapping on the helmet and getting onto the back of the bike. “We’ll never…” He never got to finish the sentence. Sirius started up the bike and they were off, going so fast Harry couldn’t even make out the shapes of the houses of Maple Hills as they passed them.

It didn’t take too long for Harry to realize that the motorcycle was no longer touching the ground at all. Despite having been promised an explanation of the situation on the way to the airport, the only talking Harry could possibly imagine getting done on this ride was the occasional outburst of swearing when they’d turn a corner too fast or jump over a building or something. What would have been a 90-minute drive to the Indianapolis International Airport took a little less than half an hour, but it seemed like ages to Harry, who was pretty sure that at any moment he was going to go flying off the back of the motorcycle and plummet to his untimely death. Eventually, however, he made it to Indy unscathed, though admittedly a little nauseous. They sped up into one of the airport’s parking garages, and not a single person seemed to notice them. Shaking and feeling as though his knees might go out and leave him sprawled across the pavement, Harry stepped off the bike and started to say something to Sirius. No words actually made it out of his mouth.  
“How’s that, Harry?” Sirius said, looking both amused and quite proud of himself. Harry just shook his head and took off his helmet. The dog-man put both helmets back into the freaky bags, and then flipped a small switch on one of the handlebars of the bike. It disappeared.  
“That’ll be transported back home,” he explained, as though shit disappearing into thin air was a common, everyday occurrence. Well, in his world, it probably is, Harry thought. Sirius motioned for Harry to follow him and the two of them headed toward the terminal. Suddenly, Harry stopped.  
“Wait a second,” asked Harry sharply. “If you’ve got a big fucking motorcycle that can magically transport itself back to London, why the hell are we getting on a plane?” Sirius just chuckled, shaking his head slightly in mock exasperation.  
“Doing it as a bit of a favor to a friend of mine,” he said. “Old fellow is completely fascinated with muggle technologies, flying things in particular. Amazed at how they stay up without magic. So I figured I’d try one out and bring him back a full report. You don’t mind, do you, Harry?”  
“I guess not,” Harry said. Come to think of it, he’d never been on a plane before, and had never imagined he ever would be. “I’ve never been on one. Could be interesting.”  
“Excellent!” said Sirius with a smile. Not the sideways, bemused smile he’d mostly been showing off all morning, but a real one. Excitement. They continued through the airport to security, which they got through very quickly because they didn’t have any luggage. Sirius, who somehow seemed to know exactly where he was going, led Harry to their gate, where their flight was already boarding. Looking at the other passengers in line, Harry became suddenly quite horrified for like the umpteenth time that morning. He didn’t have a fucking ticket.  
“Boarding pass?” a voice said. The TSA agent looked at him expectantly.  
“Just give her your ticket, Harry,” Sirius said, and he pointed at the pocket of Harry’s jeans.  
“Oh,” Harry said, and reached into his pocket and felt a whole bunch of paper stuff inside it. He pulled out not only a boarding pass, but a completely legit-looking US passport, with his picture and information and everything. He was vaguely aware of the dazed and blank expression on his face, but he couldn’t make it stop.  
“Sir,” the TSA lady said tersely.  
“Right,” Harry muttered. He handed her the ticket. He and dog-man both ended up boarding and finding their seats with no problems.  
“Dude, this is totally fucking illegal,” Harry whispered once they got sat down. “We’re going to end up in federal prison or something!”  
“We won’t,” Sirius said, “as long as you don’t tell anyone.” He gave Harry a mock-stern look. “And anyhow, muggle federal prison wouldn’t be too much a problem for me. I’ve gotten out of worse.”  
Harry decided to ignore for the moment that this near-perfect stranger had pretty much just told him that he was an escapee of some sort of magical prison (based on some of the tattoos, Harry was not exactly that surprised). He had another question.  
“You said that word before. What’s it mean?” Harry asked. Sirius looked confused for a moment, then laughed and nodded.  
“Muggle,” he said. “Means, basically, non-magical person. Like anyone on this aeroplane except me and you. The people of the world you grew up in. Non-magical person.”  
“Makes sense,” Harry said, turning to look out the window. They weren’t moving yet, but it was kind of interesting to see all the stuff that was going on outside. There were other planes, people in orange vests, other people driving little carts, going in and out of focus as Harry found himself struggling to stay awake. Not sleeping all night was starting to catch up to him. He yawned.  
“Get some sleep, Harry,” Sirius said. “We’ll be on here for a while. You’ve got a lot of new stuff coming at you, you’ll need to rest.” That was the last thing Harry remembered, up until he had the dream again.


	3. Explaining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is short and it took forever to update. Busy busy school and crap. :D

It was the same dream he’d been having every now and again for as long as he could remember.  It wasn’t really scary in itself, and he couldn’t really make sense of it, but he always woke up sweating and breathing heavily, sometimes on the verge of tears.  And he’d had it again, waking up to see the other passengers glancing in his direction, and a very sleepy, not-quite-awake Sirius staring at him with concern.  He must’ve been making some ruckus.

“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly.  “Just…dreaming.  I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” Sirius said inquisitively.  “What…what exactly was it?”  He definitely seemed as though he knew something that Harry didn’t. 

“It’s just the same dream I’ve been having for as long as I can remember.  It’s not even scary, it doesn’t even really make sense.  But it freaks me out, ya know.  It’s just, this green light, and a scream, and that’s it.  Doesn’t even make sense.”  Harry sighed and closed his eyes.  He’d never talked about the dream to anyone before.  No one had ever cared to ask him.  Harry rubbed his eyes and opened them again to see that the expression on Sirius’s face had gone from urgent and frightened to something that could only be described as profound sadness.  It was almost like there were ghosts in his eyes.

“That would’ve been the night they died,” he said, barely audibly.  “Your mum and dad, Harry.  I didn’t think you’d have any memory of it at all.”

“So…they’re dead?” Harry asked.  He’d always assumed he was an orphan, but that didn’t make it easy to hear it confirmed.  “Both of them?”

“Yes,” Sirius breathed.  “They were murdered when you were just a baby…” It seemed like he was going to say something else, but Harry interrupted.

“Murdered?”

“Yes.”

“So, the scream I hear…?”

“Lily,” he said.  The named tumbled clumsily out of his mouth, as though he hadn’t spoken it for a long time, but had always been waiting to.  “Your mother.”  There was a pause where they both sat in silence.  Whether it was emotion or some kind of shock or something else keeping them that way they couldn’t tell.  Suddenly, Sirius spoke again.

“You have her eyes, you know.  Lily’s eyes.  But otherwise, you look just like James.”  He smiled sadly and shook his head with a soft chuckle.  “Your father James.  He was my best friend you know.  Sometimes…sometimes I…” His voice trailed off for a moment.  “I’m your godfather, Harry.  If things had gone differently that night you’d have come to stay with me.”

“Godfather?  So, like, are you going to put a dead horse in my bed, or, like, grant my wishes?” Harry asked, trying to make a joke so that neither of them would start crying.

Sirius stared at him blankly.

“In movies…” Harry began, but it was pretty much immediately clear that his explanation wasn’t going to help much.  “Never mind, forget it. So, what happened then?  How did I end up here?  Well, not here, you know, there.  Where I was.  Uh…you know.”

“News of your parents’ death spread quickly back to the Order, but by the time we…”

“The order?” Harry interrupted.  He didn’t like the idea of being left in the dark about any of the details.

“Yes, the Order of the Phoenix.  It’s a secret, well it’s not so secret now, but anyway, it’s an organization of witches and wizards who…”

“What’s the difference?  Like, between a witch and a wizard?  What makes someone one or the other?”  Harry asked this question in all seriousness, and was almost offended when he was met with a confused and somewhat horrified look from his godfather. 

“Um, at your age I thought you would, uh…” he mumbled a few incomprehensible syllables before Harry caught on.

“Oh, shit,” he said.  “Witches are women and wizards are men, right?” 

Sirius looked relieved. 

“Yes, yes.  I forget you’ve been living with muggles and…”

“Yeah, I get it now.  I wasn’t asking like, no.  I already know that.”  There was another brief, awkward silence, eventually ending in nervous laughter.  “Anyway, so, what?”

And so Sirius spent the next several minutes explaining this Order of the Phoenix, that there was a magical civil war going on and that the Order was a group dedicated to fighting against this evil wizard whose name Sirius refused to say.  This evil guy had all this minions called Death Eaters (gross) who liked to run around terrifying everyone. The goal was to subdue them and destroy Mr. Evil Magic Guy.  Whoever he was, he was the dude who had singlehandedly orphaned Harry, so Harry was totally on board with trying to take him down.  Apparently the entire membership of this order were all living together in one giant house right now, which was like all fortified and bunkered down, because it wasn’t really safe to be roaming around outside or living without an army of backup. 

“There are others your age, there, Harry,” Sirius said.  “You would have been in the same year with them at school, if you hadn’t been kidnapped, and if the school hadn’t been taken over by Death Eaters…”

Harry realized that they had never actually gotten around to the part of the story when he ended up in Indiana instead of England.  Kidnapped.  Intense.  Just then, the seat belt side clicked on, and there was an announcement throughout the cabin that they’d be experiencing some turbulence.  Sirius reached into his pocket and prepared to draw his magic wand (Yes, magic wand.  They actually have those, apparently).  He apparently thought that these magical Death Eaters were actually capable of taking down a plane.  In the end, nothing unusual happened, but Harry and Sirius spent the rest of the flight in nervous silence. 

So eventually they landed at Heathrow, where Harry got to have his totally real and not fake at all passport stamped.  They didn’t have any luggage to claim, so they went straight out into the parking lot, where Sirius’s stupid motorcycle was waiting with its freakish expanding bags. 


	4. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's first hours in Britain raise more questions than they answer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, it's been a while since there's been an update. If anyone's still reading this, it's not abandoned, I swear, and there will be more soon. This one's super short, but there *should* be a longer bit coming in a little while.

“You ready to go?” Sirius asked, smiling, handing Harry his helmet.   
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” Harry said, putting it on. “Where are we going, exactly?”  
“We’ll have to stop off at Grimmauld Place,” he said, putting on his own helmet, “and we’ll take a portkey from there to our headquarters.”  
“I don’t know what any of that means,” Harry said. Sirius just laughed.   
“You’ll figure it out soon enough,” he said. And they were off.  
Harry wished they wouldn’t have gone so fast through London. Never in his life would he have imagined he’d get anywhere outside a hundred-mile radius of Little Wabash, and all the scenery he could have been checking out whizzed by him in a blurry haze. Pretty soon they stopped, parking on the street in front of a bunch of those weird houses that were directly side-by-side, like he’d seen on TV.   
“Number 12,” Sirius said, detaching the bags from the bike and slinging them over his shoulder. Despite the amount of stuff that had been shoved inside them, they didn’t appear to be very heavy. Harry looked at the house directly in front of him, which was marked Number 11. Directly on either side of it were Numbers 10 and 13.  
“There, uh…” he began, but almost as soon as he opened his mouth, houses 11 and 13 started to seemingly pull apart, revealing Number 12. It was, of course, identical to the rest of the houses on the street, but looked somehow much older, run-down. “Oh.”  
“The old family home,” Sirius said with mock grandeur, spreading his arms like he was showing it off. “The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.” They went inside.   
Harry felt like he’d stepped back a few centuries. Well, back a few centuries, and into some alternate reality. Nothing about the place seemed like it belonged in 1996. The furniture was old and clunky, and there was kind of a layer of dust on everything. There was no telephone, television, microwave, or anything of the sort to be seen, and only the most rudimentary of electric lights. Sirius cryptically advised Harry to keep quiet, then excused himself upstairs for a moment, to grab some of his stuff, apparently. Harry took the opportunity to explore a bit, trying at his godfather’s request not to make too much noise. In one room he found a huge wall tapestry, displaying an enormous and complicated family tree. It was the Black family, of course, seeing as this was the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. The family members’ faces were embroidered into the tapestry along with their names. Well, some of the faces had been blacked out, seemingly burned.  
“Family drama, much?” Harry muttered to himself.  
“You have no idea,” Sirius boomed from the doorway, apparently having heard. Harry almost apologized, but saw that his godfather looked more amused than upset, so said nothing. He strode over to where Harry was standing, and pointed to one of the burn spots on the tapestry. Below the charred black spot was written the name Sirius Black. “Mummy dearest did that,” he said, “when I was probably around your age.”   
“Ouch.”  
“Eh, who needs ‘em? Come on, boy, we’d better move along.” He apparently wasn’t going to give an explanation. He started back toward the hall.  
“So…where are we going?” Harry asked.  
“Headquarters!” Sirius said, as though Harry should know what he meant. “Of the Order. It’s another house, really. Bigass mansion. Belongs to some people that used to fight for the…the other side. Things got outta control and they switched loyalties. I wasn’t big on the idea of letting them in, don’t trust ‘em, see, but they let us use their house and their money, so we didn’t really have the choice at that point to say no. Always keeping tabs on them, though. They got a boy about your age.” He stopped suddenly, as though he’d heard something, hushing at Harry even though he hadn’t actually said anything. It only took a moment for Harry to hear it, too; light, slow footsteps somewhere above them in the house, along with a noise that sounded like a combination of a person muttering and a cat wailing at the door to be let in. It wasn’t frightening, exactly, but somehow unpleasant. Perfect silence, Sirius mouthed to Harry, leading him back to the hall and out the door.  
“Ha!” Sirius laughed, loudly and abruptly, as soon as they’d stepped out onto the sidewalk. Harry jumped back, startled. “Got out without them finding us. How about I let them know we paid a visit?” He sharply banged on the door. Almost immediately, the wailing cat voice from the house could be heard outside, shouting something in what seemed to be English, but Harry couldn’t make out any of the words. Sirius pressed his ear up against the door, and Harry followed suit, thinking maybe there was something to hear. Sure enough, the wailing cat voice was soon accompanied by the sound of a woman shouting.  
Mudblood! Mudblood and the blood-traitor in the house!   
Yes, mistress, said the cat voice, yes. I heard them. I heard them, mistress.   
“What the…who the fuck is in there?” Harry asked. He found it hard to believe that anybody still lived in that dusty old place. Sirius laughed.  
“Just Kreacher,” he said, “and Mother.”  
“Oh, your mother’s…still alive?”  
“Oh no, my boy. Been dead for years. Anyway….”   
Again, it didn’t seem like Harry was going to get any explanation. After everything that had gone down in the last 24 hours, he was starting to come to terms with the fact that he might never understand anything that happened ever again.


	5. Many Uncomfortable Handshakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets some awkward but lovable redheads in England

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone still reading this? It's been so long...

They got back on the motorcycle and travelled for a while. Harry was pretty sure they left London, but they were still going too fast for him to be sure of anything. Fairly soon they stopped in front of what had to be the aforementioned “bigass mansion” where the Order of the Phoenix was camping out. Sirius had described it as being basically a bunker, but Harry didn’t see any signs of heavy security besides the huge iron fence surrounding the yard.

“Here we are,” Sirius said, taking the bags from the bike and handing one to Harry.

“Thought it would be more, I dunno, heavily guarded?” Harry said. “Just on how you described it.”

“Oh, it is very heavily guarded, I assure you,” his godfather said. “Defensive magic. Invisible, but it certainly does the job. Just as long as no one figures out a way around it.”

“Oh,” said Harry dumbly. This kind of shit was going to take some getting used to. They walked up to the gate, which Sirius grabbed onto and rattled in what seemed to be a very specific rhythm.

“Who goes there?” said a voice from the other side.

“What’s the password?” said the same voice, but seemingly from a different place beyond the fence.

“It’s the Queen Mother, and the password is shut your fucking mouths,” Sirius shot back sarcastically.

“Correct!” shouted the identical voices in unison. Sirius shook his head, and gave Harry a look that said something along the lines of _“Idiots. What can you do?”_ The gate swung open and the two of them stepped inside, then the gate swung closed again. As soon as it was closed, two people seemed to materialize out of nowhere, presumably the owners of the voices they’d heard from outside. They were tall, lanky redheads, apparently identical twins. Their clothes were ragged and their faces were freckled and sunburnt, but they appeared rather jovial and amused with themselves, looking down at Harry with eerily similar sideways smiles.

“That him?” asked one of them.

“Thought he’d be taller,” said the other. They both laughed.

“I’m Fred,” the first one said, extending his hand to shake.

“I’m George,” said the other, extending his hand as well. Harry ended up awkwardly shaking hands with both of them at once, which was apparently what they’d intended.

“Harry, the Weasley twins,” Sirius said. He narrowed his eyes at the boys and gave them the “I’m watching you” gesture, starting all three of them laughing.

“Um, hello,” Harry said. “I’m Harry.”

“Oh, we know who _you_ are,” said one of the twins. Harry had already lost track of which was which.

“Yeah. You’re right famous around here. Didn’t this old tosser explain anything to you?” said the other, giving Sirius a playful shove.

“Um, no?” Harry said. “Uh…”

“Come on now, boys,” Sirius interjected hurriedly. “Let’s get on inside, let the boy get settled.” Fred and George exchanged a puzzled glance as the group started toward the house.

“You say he’s Ronnie’s age?” said one of the Weasleys, breaking the silence as they approached the front door.

“Yeah,” said Sirius. “Would’ve been in the same year.”

“Who?” Harry asked.

“Our brother, Ron,” said Fred or George. “We’ll introduce you inside. Make ‘im show you around.”

When they entered the house, Harry actually started to believe they were in some kind of war zone. There were frantic, ragged-looking people moving about everywhere, stacks and stacks of what looked like military provisions and even some of those maps with little pins and strings stuck in them like you see in war movies. A red-haired man with glasses started to pass by, but stopped when he saw the little group standing in the doorway. He hurried toward them, looking a little bit too happy as compared to everyone else running around.

“Morning, Arthur,” Sirius said.

“Yeah, morning, Arthur,” said Fred and George in unison, laughing. Arthur scowled at them and then smiled at Harry.

“Arthur Weasley,” he said, shaking Harry’s hand with vigor.

“Harry Potter,” Harry said, although he was pretty sure Arthur Weasley already knew that.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Arthur said, still shaking Harry’s hand. He then seemed to realize that the hand-shaking had gone on a bit too long and stopped, pulling away and chuckling sheepishly.

“We were gonna take him over to meet Ron,” one of the twins said, “since they’re the same age and all that.”

“Good, good,” their father said distractedly, already moving past Harry to question Sirius about his first time on an airplane. The twins laughed and shook their heads in unison, then led Harry upstairs into some sort of small library-type room, straight into a group of rough-looking, redheaded boys. There were four of them, and Fred and George made six. One of them looked about Harry’s age, two of them older, and one much younger.

“Here he is, Ronnie. Like we told ya.” The boy about Harry’s age got up and walked toward him, smiling a bit awkwardly. He was tall and thin and freckled, and looked like he hadn’t washed his hair in quite a while. He reached out for a handshake. _Oh god, not again_ , Harry thought, anticipating another ridiculously drawn-out moment like he’d just experienced with Arthur. It turned out not to be so bad, though.

“Ron,” he said. “Ron Weasley.”

“Harry,” Harry said. “But you knew that already, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Ron, looking equal parts embarrassed and awestruck. “You’re really Harry Potter.”

“Yep,” Harry said, feeling like this subject of his identity had been driven too far into the ground at this point. He stood silently for a moment, awkward around this kid he was apparently expected to hang around with for approximately the rest of his life. “So…” Harry said finally, “these are all your brothers, then?”

“Excuse me?” the youngest redhead called out before Ron could answer. Harry looked across the room and realized with horror that the youngest Weasley was not, in fact, a very young boy, but a girl about his own age with her hair cut short and baggy clothes. Harry felt his face flush what must have been a mortifying shade of red as he noticed, adding to his terror, that she was, in fact, a _very pretty girl_.

“I…I just…oh my god, I mean…” He tried to stop stammering like an idiot, but that wasn’t working out very well for him. The Weasley girl shook her head and glared at him as her brothers, with the exception of one terrified-looking Ron, were practically beside themselves laughing. Suddenly, the girl reached into her pocket and drew what Harry now recognized as a magic wand, and pointed it across the room at him. _This is how I fucking die,_ he thought. _All this way for whatever the hell is happening here and this is how I die._ The girl shouted something in Latin or something, and Harry immediately felt like his head had been swept up in some kind of whirlwind. There were black shapes darting around him and he couldn’t see straight. It must have only been a second or so before he finally gathered his wits about him, but it seemed like longer before he realized that his head was surrounded by bats. As quickly as they’d appeared they vanished, and Harry was left standing dazed and confused. Ron looked mortified, head buried in his hands, but the other brothers were still laughing. He finally dared look back at the girl. A huge smile spread across her face, making her look even prettier and Harry feel even worse about himself.

“Just messing with you, mate,” she said, giggling a bit now. “Bat bogey hex, my specialty.”

“I…I….” Harry still couldn’t get any coherent words out. She laughed and walked toward him, hand outstretched for what would probably be a much more bearable Weasley handshake.

“Ginny,” she said. “Ginevra, that is. But don’t ever call me that.”

“Alright, Ginny.” Harry said, finally catching his breath as he shook her hand. “And, uh, sorry.”

“I was never upset about it,” she said, shaking her head like, _do you believe this guy?_ “I just like hexes. You seem alright.”

“Oh, good, then.”

“Yeah. Come on, Ron. Let’s take him to meet everybody else.”

 


	6. The Boy Who Lived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's new friends give him some important information.

After having the remaining Weasley brothers introduced to him as Bill and Charlie, Ginny and Ron led Harry off to another part of the mansion, which turned out to be a larger library. There were a number of other kids in there, sitting around and talking.

“Hey everybody!” Ginny shouted, grabbing Harry by the hand, yanking his arm up and waving it around for everyone to look at. “Look who we found!”

“Is that…is that really Harry Potter?” one guy said, standing to hurry toward him. _Please do not shake my fucking hand_ , Harry thought, and was pleased when he didn’t. He just folded his hands in front of him and blushed, apparently realizing how fucking weird he was acting. “Neville Longbottom,” he said sheepishly, taking a few steps backward. “It’s just…we’ve all heard so much about you.”

“Yes we have,” another voice said, coming from a girl sitting on the floor on the other side of a table. Harry hadn’t actually noticed her there before, and her voice startled him. “My name is Luna; we’re glad to have you.” Her voice was soft and airy, but not quiet, and gave Harry an off-putting sense of simultaneous calm and unease. Her long, tangled hair fell all the way down to the floor when she was sitting. She came toward him, stepping barefoot up onto the table instead of going around it. She didn’t shake his hand either, instead she put one hand on each side of his face and smiled up at him warmly, as though she were his elderly aunt who hadn’t seen him since Thanksgiving three years ago or something.

“Um, hi,” Harry said, feeling himself blush as Luna stepped back and smiled more at him. He glanced around the room and noticed that all eyes were on him now, some with awe, some with curiosity, and, it seemed, some with suspicion.

“So that’s really the one? The Boy Who Lived?” a guy who’d previously had his nose stuck in a book called out. “Doesn’t look that impressive.”

“Oh shut up, Draco,” Ginny said, turning toward Harry. “He’s our resident grump, ignore him.”

“We just keep him around since technically this is his parents’ house,” said someone else, in a thick accent that Harry was pretty sure wasn’t English. Maybe Scottish or something?  Harry remembered that Sirius had told him that this house belonged to former Death Eaters, and that they had a son his age. That must be Draco.

“Seamus, that’s not nice,” piped up Luna. “Draco’s very helpful. Right, Draco?”

“Yeah, that’s not nice,” Draco said, sort of mimicking Luna’s tone. “Just because we…” He stopped abruptly, glanced at Harry, turned back to his book. “Never mind.”

“What did you mean?” Harry asked. “What you just said. What did you call me?”

“The Boy Who Lived,” Neville said, when Draco didn’t answer. “That’s what…that’s what everyone calls you.”

“I don’t get it, sorry,” Harry said. All eyes back on him. _What the fuck_.

“Sirius…didn’t explain to you?” Ginny said softly, after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Explain to me what?” Harry asked. Ginny sighed, then reached up and pushed the hair back off his forehead.

“How you got this scar?”

“Um, no. Not really.” Harry put his hand to his forehead, suddenly self-conscious of the bolt-shaped mark. His hand brushed Ginny’s as she moved hers away. He hoped everyone in the room would attribute his blushing to being flustered about all this scar mystery shit.

“What _did_ he tell you?” said another guy, who was sprawled out across a sofa with his head in Seamus’s lap. “About…you know, yourself?”

“That my parents were murdered, and then I was kidnapped. He’s my godfather, so he’s been looking for me, I guess? So then he found me and brought me back here.”

“Well, you were murdered, too, mate,” said the guy, matter-of-factly, as though getting murdered and not being dead weren’t mutually exclusive.

“Dean!” Ginny said, rolling her eyes. “No, you weren’t.” She turned to Harry. “Well, I mean…”

“He cast a killing curse on you, too,” said Neville. “You-know-who did. But you didn’t die. No one’s ever survived a killing curse. Nobody but you, anyway.”

“That’s where the scar came from,” said Ron. “That’s what they always said, anyway. That you had a scar on your head where the curse, I guess, bounced off. I guess you really do have it, the scar, then, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And that’s why they call you ‘The Boy Who Lived,’” Luna said, in a soft, motherly tone, looking at him with an almost alarming amount of compassion. “And that’s why they think you’re going to be the one to save us all.”

“What?”

“There’s a prophecy or something,” Ron said. “We don’t know what it is, but I think some of the older Order members do. Some sort of prophecy saying that you, for some reason, are gonna be the one to take him down. To defeat You-know-who.”

“Voldemort,” Ginny said, and a brief wave of tension passed over the room.

“Sirius did mention him,” Harry said. He was trying to remember what he’d been told on the plane. That was the big baddie, right? The one who was trying to take over the world or some shit? Oh, shit. _Oh, shit._

“Yeah,” said Draco. “So _that’s_ why you’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on Hermione Granger's 37th birthday. Just thought I should point that out.


	7. Cultural Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finally gets some rest and a hot supper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to anyone who's still here for sticking around. This fic isn't dead, I'm just busy and slow.

Harry decided to take a few minutes to himself after that. Well, not so much “decided” as “must’ve looked so pale and confused that Ron decided to show him to his room.” The silence was uncomfortable as Ron led him down the deep, dark hallways to a small bedroom, strewn with posters and candy wrappers and ragged clothes. There were two twin-sized beds crammed into the room, one of which seemed to have been recently occupied and one that looked freshly made. The images on the posters were moving around on their own, but that was probably the least weird thing Harry had seen today and he barely even noticed.

“This is where I sleep,” Ron said. “And you, too, now, I guess. Weird that in a place this big we’re running out of space, but there’s a lot of people here, and…”

“No, it’s okay. I get it. Roommates,” Harry said, struggling to form sentences longer than three words or so. His head was still spinning from the conversation in the library. _I’m supposed to be saving the world? I wasn’t even planning on passing my chemistry test, and now I’m supposed to do something about a homicidal warlock or some shit?_ He flung himself into the empty bed and stared up at the high ceiling, kicking off his shoes.

“You, uh, need anything? Food or something?” Ron asked.

“No, I’m fine,” Harry said, even though he was pretty hungry. Ron nodded silently and left the room, giving a short wave goodbye as he shut the door. Harry took off his glasses and reflexively went to set them on the bedside table, but there was no bedside table in this tiny room so he hung them on the bed frame. _So he didn’t come just to find me_ , Harry thought, rubbing his eyes and realizing how tired he was. The few hours of sleep on the airplane hadn’t been enough to sustain him for very long. _They need me to do something. How…how could I think someone would come looking for me just because they wanted to find me? I’m supposed to…_ He didn’t even finish the thought; he was too tired and he could feel his mind starting to shut down. He grabbed his glasses and tried to figure out how to turn the lights out in the room, but magical wizards don’t use normal light switches, apparently, so he ended up just lying back down and going to sleep with his arm draped over his face to keep the light out of his eyes.

Harry woke to a gentle rap on the door, and then the person on the other side not waiting on an answer before coming in. He was sort of startled for a second, but mostly just groggy. He put his glasses back on and saw that it was Ginny, carrying a large plate of food.

“Supper,” she said. “Mum said to tell you just to eat it, and not ask what it is, since she didn’t think you Americans would…”

“Thanks,” Harry said unintentionally curtly, cutting her off. He sat up on the bed and took the plate from her. He must’ve looked appropriately embarrassed for interrupting her, because rather than looking pissed off, she chuckled lightly and sat down next to him, handing him a fork. Looking down at the food, Harry decided that Mum Weasley was probably right about him not wanting to know what he was eating. He didn’t know much about British food, but was hungry enough to try it all anyway. To his extremely pleasant surprise, it tasted much better than it looked, and he’d wolfed half of it down before he knew what he was doing. It seemed like the more he ate, the hungrier he got.

“I’ll send Mum your compliments,” she smirked, causing Harry to blush. She laughed.

“It’s…it’s really good, and I’m starving,” he said, laughing back at her.

“Frankly, you look like you’re starving,” she said. “Did your fake American parents not feed you?”

“I mean,” Harry said, “I just didn’t like them very much, or their kid. So I avoided spending time with them, and I wasn’t allowed to eat in my room, so I wouldn’t eat much at dinner or anything. Plus, nothing they ever ate was any good.”

“You’ve got a British palate, after all, then?”

“Eh, I dunno. They ate some weird shit, ‘cause Mike Jr. played football, and they were obsessed with keeping him in shape or whatever.”

“Football,” Ginny said thoughtfully. “I think I know what that is. Muggle sport, where they run around and kick at the black and white ball.” She looked at him quizzically for confirmation.

“No…well, yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about. That’s football, but, er, we call it something else, over there. Anyway, American football is something else. Basically a bunch of overworked muscleheads smacking into each other. It’s…uh…loud and violent.”

“Just like me!” she exclaimed, winking. Harry couldn’t help but smile.

“Well they, uh, they don’t really let girls play,” he said, and instantly regretted it. _That’s not what she meant, dipshit. Stop ruining this conversation_. She looked at him strangely, somewhere between insulted and confused. Harry tried to say something, to save the moment, but nothing coherent came out. Luckily, Ginny Weasley seemed to be much more efficient at interpersonal interaction than he was.

“Well that’s kind of shit, isn’t it?” she said. “If a girl can hold her own, they ought to let her smack into the boys, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Harry said, nodding a bit too emphatically.

“That’s why I like quidditch,” she said, leaning back and casually pointing to one of the posters on Ron’s side of the room. “No silly segregation, just sport. And plenty of smacking into each other.”

“Quidditch,” Harry repeated. “Is that a sort of…magical sport?”

“It’s _the_ magical sport,” she said, leaning toward him and putting her hand on his shoulder. “You’d love it, probably. Sometimes when there’s nothing going on we have matches out on the grounds. We can teach you to fly, and then teach you quidditch.”

“Fly? Like, on a broomstick?”

“What else?”

“Uh…”

“…yeah,” she said. They stared at each other strangely for a second or two while Harry tried to decide if it was culturally appropriate to tell her that flying on a broomstick seemed to him like a very silly thing to do. He decided against saying anything.

“You still hungry, then?” Ginny asked, nodding to the now empty plate.

“Uh, yeah, actually. If there’s enough left,” he said. Ginny laughed out loud.

“If there’s enough left,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t know my mum. Come on downstairs and get yourself some seconds. And meet some more people, if you’re ready.”

“Great.”


	8. Migraines and Genocide????????

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns a little more about what he's getting into. Also, his head doesn't explode, so that's good.

She led him down into a huge dining room, with one of those really long, fancy tables that Harry had only ever seen in fantasy movies. There were people crowded all around it, a few that he recognized and many that he didn’t. The room was loud and bright, which Harry found jarring after following Ginny down dark, still hallways for probably like a full seven minutes (the house was fucking _huge_ ). It was all a bit dizzying. Harry was pretty sure there was stuff flying all over the room, like magical flying something-or-others, but with the lights in his eyes he couldn’t be sure.

                  “Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry,” a familiar voice called out, and Harry saw Sirius gesturing to him from across the room. “C’mere, Harry, come here, son, I’ve got to talk to you.” Harry started toward him, but it was an awkwardly long walk around the giant table. His head was spinning. _Son, he called me. Have I ever heard that before?_ Sirius had gotten up to come toward him, and they met sort of in the middle. There was a tall, thin man following behind him.

                  “Look at him, Remus,” Sirius said, beaming and pulling Harry toward the stranger. “It’s really him. It’s Harry.” Remus rested his hands gently on Harry’s shoulders and looked down into his eyes, which had sort of had a weird calming effect. His face was sallow and scarred, but he seemed kind, tired.

                  “Harry Potter,” Remus said softly, gently shaking his head. He raised one of his hands to touch Harry’s hair, probably looking for that scar everyone seemed so fascinated with. But, to Harry’s surprise, he didn’t seem interested in his forehead at all; he just kept looking in his eyes and sort of stroking his head. There were tears welling up in his eyes.

                  “Looks just like James, no?” Sirius said. “But with…”

                  “With Lily’s eyes,” Remus finished the sentence.

                  “With Lily’s eyes.”

                  “You look just like you did when you were a baby,” Remus said, shaking his head again and cradling Harry’s face in his hands. “I can’t believe I’m seeing you again.”

                  “Uh…me either,” Harry said, feeling both awkward about being cuddled by a total stranger and a little guilty for not somehow remembering who this guy was. Remus dropped his hands to his sides and stuffed them in his pockets.

                  “Sorry to be so sentimental, love,” he said, chuckling lightly and smiling. “It’s just I didn’t imagine we’d ever find you. We weren’t even sure you were alive.”

                  “Well, here I am,” Harry said, trying to lighten the mood but mostly just sounding strained and confused. “And here y’all are…so.” Both men laughed when he said that.

                  “ _Y’all_ ,” Sirius repeated. “I told you he was American now.”

                  “You can’t blame him,” Remus said. “He was raised in…Indiana, was it?”

                  “Yeah,” Harry said. “And “raised” is kind of a strong word. Mostly just “fed and allowed to live indoors” in Indiana.” He smiled.

                  “Well you can relate to that, can’t you Sirius?”

                  “Certainly.”

                  “Come sit with us,” Remus said, gesturing to the table where he and Sirius had been sitting. “Have some more to eat. That is, if you’re willing to leave the company of the young lady for a second.” His eyes shifted up to Ginny, who was still standing where she’d been when Sirius had first got Harry’s attention. She was standing with her arms crossed, but was smiling broadly.

                  “Oh, yeah, uh…sorry Ginny, I…”

                  “Nah, go on,” she called. “Have your supper with your new dads. I’m not bothered.” She smiled and flipped him off, then went to take a seat among her brothers.

                  “Uh…does that gesture mean something else in…”

                  “No,” Remus said with a laugh, “she’s just like that. Don’t worry.”

                  “So,” Harry said, taking a seat between the two of them, “you’re…Remus, then?”

                  “Yes,” Remus said, nodding and with his mouth full of what appeared to be potato. “I was another friend of…friend of your parents.”

                  “Cool,” Harry said. “I hear they were murdered.”

                  “Um, yes…” Remus said, apparently taken aback. It occurred to Harry that the remark might have been in poor taste. It was easy to joke about two people he’d never met, but these people had been their friends.

                  “Sorry,” Harry said. “I don’t mean to…like…be rude about it. But, you know, this is all super new to me. I don’t really know…like, anything, you know?”

                  “It’s quite alright, Harry,” Remus said. “This all must be, well, a lot for you.”

                  “Yeah.” Harry found himself rubbing his eyes, realizing he had a dull headache. “It’s a lot.”

                  “Here,” Remus said, tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention. “Try a bit of this.” Harry looked up to see he was holding out half a large bar of chocolate, having pulled back the wrapper so Harry could take a piece.

                  “Thanks,” Harry said, taking some and popping it in his mouth. “Is it…like, magic candy or something?”

                  “No,” Remus chuckled, “but you may find that it helps, anyway. I find it quite helpful for a number of stressful situations.”

                  “It is good,” Harry said, taking another piece. He shot a side-glance toward Sirius. “I mean, doesn’t taste like _American_ chocolate, but…”

                  Remus laughed and Sirius shook his head, starting to say something, but didn’t get any words out before the dining room’s main door flung open, and a young woman with purple hair burst in, shouting.

                  “There’s a riot at one of the camps!” she said, and then jumped right up onto the table. “There’s a riot at one of the camps! Let’s go!” By the time she jumped down off the table, her hair was clown-red. She pulled the huge door open again, and a bunch of people got up from their chairs and rushed out, including Ginny Weasley and her brothers the twins.

                  “Wait, what? Where are they…? Huh?” Harry said, turning his head frantically from side to side. “What’s going on?”

                  “There’s a riot at one of the camps,” Sirius said matter-of-factly, shoving half a bread roll in his mouth.

                  “I…I gathered that. Who was that girl? Who just came in here yelling?”

                  “That would be my little cousin Dora,” Sirius said. “She’s…spunky.” Remus chuckled.

                  “Remus thinks she’s cuter than me,” he said.

                  “I mean…” Harry said. “I also think she’s cuter than you.”

                  “Fair.”

                  “But…what was she talking about? Camp? Where are they going? Is it…like, are they all gonna fucking die right now? What’s happening?” Harry noticed the two of them exchange a strangely familiar glance, the same sort of glance he’d seen some of his former foster parents give each other right before they told him that the snake he’d befriended in the garage had been “accidentally” killed with a lawnmower. “What’s going on?” he asked again, more solemnly this time.

                  “You don’t need to worry, Harry,” Remus said. “Everyone going out there knows what they’re doing, and just what they’re up against. They’ll all be alright.”

                  “Okay, but what’s going on? What did she mean by one of the camps?”

                  “Well...see, Harry, your parents were wizards, yes? So you’re a wizard, too. But some witches and wizards are born to muggles. Just, randomly. They’ve got the same magical powers as any of us, but they came from non-magic parents.”

                  “…Okay?”

                  “So…some people, you know, You-Know-Who and his…people. They don’t think people like that, muggle-borns, are real witches and wizards, so they try to keep them out. Get rid of them. So they started, well, rounding them up. As many of them as they could catch, and putting them in prison.”

                  “But, like, _prison camps_?” Harry asked, incredulous.

                  “Yes,” Sirius said, clearly uncomfortable. “And that…that’s pretty much what we’re fighting. Trying to take down You-Know-Who…”

                  “Voldemort, right?” Harry said a bit harshly. Sirius and Remus both winced a little.

                  “Yes, Voldemort,” Sirius said, practically whispering. “Trying to take him down, so he doesn’t get away with it. With taking over the world with his…”

                  “Genocide.”

                  “Yes.”

                  “And I’m supposed to stop it somehow, right?” Harry said, suddenly overcome again by the fear and anger he’d felt when he’d first been told. “I’m supposed to defeat him, right? That’s why you came after me, right?”

                  “Who told you that?” Sirius said quietly. Harry felt Remus’s hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off. He nodded across the room to the part of the table where the other kids his age were sitting.

                  “They explained it to me,” he said. “That there’s some fucking prophecy or something? That I’m supposed to be coming over here and saving all your asses?”

                  “Harry,” Remus said gently, placing his hand back on Harry’s shoulder. “We’ve been looking for you since long before we ever knew…”

                  “They told me _I was murdered too_. That’s how I got this scar.” He pushed his hair back and pointed at the lightning bolt on his forehead. “Except I survived, _I survived getting fucking killed_ by some fucking magical spell, and so that’s how you know I…I’m supposed to…how could you not know?”

                  “Harry, listen,” Remus said, gripping his shoulder tightly.

                  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry demanded, practically shouting, turning back to Sirius. “All that time you were bringing me over here, you didn’t tell me any of…”

                  “Harry!” Remus interrupted sharply, taking Harry by the shoulders and turning him toward him. “We had intended to tell you as soon as the time was right. We didn’t want to overwhelm you any more than…”

                  “We always wanted to find you! The prophecy….” Sirius kept talking, but Harry couldn’t really hear anything. They were both speaking at once, and it was all going in one ear and out the other. Harry covered his ears and put his head on the table, feeling his dull headache from before spreading through his brain like fire. It felt like his head was about to split in half. His entire field of vision had gone red, and he desperately wanted to punch something, but didn’t dare remove his hands from his ears. Suddenly, Harry realized that the room had gone completely silent, and there were several hands touching him gently, resting on his back or stroking his hair. His throat was parched and his head was pounding. He’d been screaming. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but he’d definitely let out a blood-curdling shriek when he’d put his head down. He lifted his head slowly to find that all eyes in the room were on him, making want to both pass out and throw up. The lights were even more overwhelming now than before.

                  “Come here, sweetheart,” a woman’s voice said. Harry felt Sirius rise from his chair and step back, and the woman’s hands rest on his back and lead him out of the room. She was talking quietly to him, with a gentle, motherly voice. Harry couldn’t really make out anything she was saying, but it comforted him, anyway. She led him into the kitchen, which still smelled strongly of food but was quiet and dark, which Harry appreciated. He sunk down slowly into a wooden chair, rubbing his temples. The woman placed a warm mug in his hands, which he found to be tea. He sipped it slowly, starting to feel better.

                  “Calm down now, dear,” she said. “It’s alright, you’re alright.”

                  “Thanks,” Harry said. She’d pulled up a chair and sat down next to him, gently rubbing his back between his shoulder blades. He finally could see straight enough to get a good look at her, and it was clear to him that she must be Mother Weasley. He could see both Ginny and Ron in her face. She was a stout woman with kind eyes and red hair, just beginning to grey. Harry got the urge to lay his head down her shoulder and rest, but he didn’t. “Sorry about all that,” he muttered.

                  “Don’t apologize, love,” she said. “You just got all worked up, is all. Drink your tea, relax a bit.”

                  “I’ve had…headaches kind of like that before,” he said. “But never that bad. It was like I couldn’t see anything…like, I was so angry my head was going to explode.”

                  “You’ve had an incredibly strange couple of days,” she said. “And Ginny and Ronnie said you were a bit worked up before, when they told you about…well, you know.” She tousled his hair a bit and kissed his forehead, then refilled his tea. “Molly, by the way,” she said. “Molly Weasley.”

                  “Thanks for the dinner,” Harry said. “Ginny said you made it.”

                  “You’re more than welcome, dear,” she said. “I’m glad you liked it.”

                  Harry tried to answer, but the pain in his head was still coming and going in waves, and he found himself rubbing his forehead again. That sometimes helped when he’d had similar headaches; it was almost as though the pain were coming from the scar itself. He got the urge to rest his head again, and this time did find himself leaning onto Molly Weasley’s shoulder. She kissed his head and raised one hand to stroke his hair. He was quite comfortable there, and she seemed to be, too, as though she were his own mother. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d actually known his mother. Everyone else here seemed to have. He almost fell asleep again, but then felt her move sharply.

                  “Oh, leave him be, Sirius,” Molly said, turning to the kitchen door. Harry raised his head to look at his godfather, who was standing hesitantly in to doorway. He looked positively miserable.

                  “It’s okay,” Harry said, sitting up and taking another sip of his tea, which had almost gone cold. Molly wordlessly tapped the mug with her wand, and the tea was warm again. “Sorry,” he said to Sirius, avoiding eye contact. “I didn’t mean to…”

                  “Shh…” Sirius said, shaking his head slowly. “I just wanted to see you were alright. Seemed like something awful was happening.”

                  “I just…had a migraine or something. I get them sometimes. I’m just, worked up, I guess.”

                  “Would you like to be left alone here for a moment?” Molly asked.

                  “That would be great, actually,” Harry answered a little too quickly. “Just…in the quiet.”

                  “Of course then, dear,” she said. “The kettle’s still half full, if you want more tea.”

                  “Thank you,” he said. He heard the sound of their footsteps diminishing as they headed back up to the dining room. He sat alone in silence for several more minutes, had another cup of tea. The pain in his head had retreated back to a dull ache, but he sat there alone for several more minutes. Once he started feeling better, he wandered around the kitchen a bit, snooping in the cabinets and picking at the food that was left on the stove. He wandered out of a door on the other side of the room, not really wanting to go back up to the dining room but sick of sitting still. He found a cellar full of food, another cellar full of what appeared to be fancy wine, what appeared to be a very tiny unused servant’s bedroom, and finally a bathroom, which he was grateful for, having had quite a lot of tea. Eventually, he decided to face the music and head back up to the dining room. That turned out to be much more difficult than it should have been, because he had been kind of out of his head when he was led down to the kitchen. He found several more doors, multiple spiders, small (cat?) footprints in the dust on the floor, and a painting that kept yelling at him, and started to think maybe he’d just start a new life down here and forget about the whole wizard thing. Finally, though, he found his way back into the dining hall.

                  Remus was waiting right at the door when he came in, offering a hug and more chocolate. Harry happily accepted both. He tried not to notice the worried glances and whispers from everyone else in the room who’d witnessed his meltdown. He went back to his seat at the table between Sirius and Remus, now also accompanied by Ron Weasley and both his parents.

                  “You alright, mate?” Ron asked with genuine concern. “That was…scary.”

                  “Yeah, thanks,” Harry said. “Doing alright now.” He noticed that the people who’d left for the camp riot were still gone. “Is everything alright here? With the…riot?”

                  “No one’s back yet,” Arthur Weasley said, “but it shouldn’t be too long. They’re a pretty efficient little army, when they want to be.”

                  As if on cue, Sirius’s cousin Dora burst back through the door. Her hair was neon pink. There were a few others following behind her, one of whom Harry recognized as Draco Malfoy.

                  “The camp is free! We just brought in about 100 people.”

                  “A hundred?” someone Harry didn’t know asked loudly. “Not very many.”

                  “It was one of the smaller places,” she said. “The one out in the country between Hogsmeade and the school.”

                  “Who started it? It had to have been a big deal, to weaken the place so much from the inside.”

                  “It was a teenage girl,” she said. “Evidently, she’d been watching quietly for years, learning magic on her own. Then she stole a wand from one of the Death Eaters…”

                  “Crowley,” Draco interrupted.

                  “Crowley. She stole his wand, petrified him, then led everyone else to try to escape. There were curses and punches flying everywhere. It was insane. They were out by the time we got there, just fighting off the last few Death Eaters trying to run them back in. All we had to do was some healing and lead them back here.”

                  “They’re all still kind of skeptical of us,” another man said. “We’ve already started sending out food and water from the storage we’ve got outside, but they won’t come in until their leader tells them it’s alright.”

                  “Their leader?” a woman asked. Everyone turned to look at her. She was an older woman wearing glasses, her hair tight in a bun. Harry hadn’t noticed her standing there before, but her presence was so commanding now that he could tell she was important. “You mean the girl?”

                  “Yeah. Should we bring her in here?”

                  “Well I should think so.”

                  “Yes ma’am. I’ll get her now.”

                  “Where’ve you been, Minerva?” Remus said to the important woman after Dora had left. “We’ve been having an eventful day around here, you know.”

                  “Of course I know,” she said disdainfully, but with a shadow of a smile on her face. “I’ve been here, you just haven’t seen me.”

                  Dora came back in the room followed by a young girl in ragged clothes, still clutching the stolen magic wand in her right hand, holding at her hip as though ready to use it. Her dark skin was slick and shiny with sweat, and her hair was so thick, curly and tangled that it seemed to take on a life of its own. Her eyes darted warily around the room, then finally rested on the Important Woman Minerva.

                  “Hello, miss,” IWM said, nodding politely. “It’s a very brave thing you’ve done.”

                  “Yes,” the girl said. “Thank you.”

                  “How old are you, miss?”

                  “What year is it?” Harry felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach.

                  “It is early Semptember, 1996,” Minerva said.

                  “Then I am nearly seventeen.” The girl’s voice didn’t waver, but there was a change in her breathing when she said it.

                  “And what is your name, dear?” The girl closed her eyes for a moment, took a breath.

                  “I’m Hermione Granger, ma’am.”

**Author's Note:**

> More to be posted over time. Please comment :)


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